


The Apprentice, or 1001 Impossible Things

by bakerstbois



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, WIP, hbp divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstbois/pseuds/bakerstbois
Summary: Having already graduated from Hogwarts and spent a year looking for Horcruxes, Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts under the guise of Severus Snape’s apprentice to look for a way to reverse the potion that brought Voldemort back to power.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	1. The Three Broomsticks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NDKiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NDKiwi/gifts).



> Thanks to my friend and beta [ PaiaLovesPie ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/pseuds/Paia_Loves_Pie) as well as my friends at Snamione International on Facebook for inspiring me!
> 
> I plan on posting weekly but life as a college student is unpredictable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets with her old professor at The Three Broomsticks and returns to Hogwarts for the first time in over a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this is currently a WIP. For once in my life I actually expect to finish this one. Once it’s complete, I’ll take this chapter note down.

Hermione wrapped her hands around her mug of Butterbeer, trying to avert her gaze from the front door of The Three Broomsticks and failing. She’d been early, of course—quite early, in fact, her nerves making it impossible for her to sit and wait at the Burrow any longer—but it was nearing on half an hour later than the arranged time for her to be escorted to Hogwarts, and her mind couldn’t help but be filled with troubled thoughts.

 _Perhaps he was abducted by a Snatcher on the way here. What if he was summoned by the Dark Lord and won’t be able to fetch me until much later? Would Madam Rosmerta be able to provide a place for me to sleep for the night? Could_ she _take me to Hogwarts?_

Just as she was resolving herself to stop Madam Rosmerta the next time she passed by her table, the door opened, revealing the silhouette of a familiar figure.

Trying to hide her relief as Snape made his way to her table, she took a gulp from her Butterbeer. Snape took the seat opposite and gestured to Madam Rosmerta.

“You don’t mind if I get a drink before we leave, I hope.” His voice was tight and formal.

“Not at all, Sir,” Hermione replied, suddenly struck by the awkwardness of this encounter. Until a year ago, he had been her Professor for 7 years, and now she was having a drink with him.

“I apologize for my tardiness. I was cleaning the supply cabinet in preparation for the arrival of the students tomorrow and time got away from me.”

He didn’t sound at all thrilled by the prospect of students arriving. Based on the animosity he received (not at all unfairly), she couldn’t exactly blame him.

“It’s not a problem. I was also a little bit late,” Hermione lied, hoping to make him feel better.

Snape’s gaze flickered to hers and he cocked an eyebrow but remained silent as Madam Rosmerta appeared at their table.

“Severus! So good to see you. The regular?”

“Yes, and a refill on Miss Granger’s Butterbeer as well. Thank you, Rosmerta.” His gaze remained on Hermione as Rosmerta left to fill his order. “As kind of you as it is to lie, I appreciate the truth much more.”

“I’ve been here for about an hour,” Hermione admitted, feeling more and more like a first year. “I was about to ask Rosmerta if she had room for me for the night.”

“Once again, I apologize. I would’ve sent an Owl had I realized how late I was.” He drummed his fingers on the table. Hermione drained the last of her Butterbeer.

“It’s no problem. I was mostly concerned for you.”

Snape looked up at her, one eyebrow lifting in amusement. “Were you now?”

Hermione scowled, cursing herself for saying it. “Well, Harry and Ron have been seeing a lot of Snatchers lately, and seeing as Hogwarts is—”

“I can assure you I would be competent against a handful of Snatchers, Miss Granger, but your concern is appreciated, I suppose.”

Just then, Rosmerta returned with their drinks and whisked Hermione’s empty mug away.

“Dumbledore informs me that your gap year with Misters Weasley and Potter was eventful. How are things going with them?” Again, Snape cocked an eyebrow, but this time his eyes glistened with caution.

“Not as well as we’d hoped, but better than we should have expected,” Hermione answered truthfully in regards to the search for Horcruxes. They’d only found one so far, Hufflepuff’s cup, in Bellatrix Lestrange’s Gringotts vault, but besides that they were clueless. Considering Voldemort had spent his entire life accumulating and hiding his treasures, it was hardly realistic to expect to find them all in a year.

Which led Hermione back to Hogwarts, under the guise of being the Potion Master’s Apprentice while she secretly searched for a reversal for the potion that brought Voldemort back to power that night in the cemetery.

Hermione shook herself from her thoughts.

Snape sighed, taking a long draft of his (apparently) Firewhiskey. “Pity. I was rather hoping for a miracle.”

*~*~*~*

The way to the Potion’s classroom was so familiar to Hermione that she only realized they were in the dungeons when they took a left turn instead of a continuing straight, down a hallway Hermione honestly couldn’t remember ever noticing before.

At the end of this hallway were two doors facing opposite each other. Snape indicated to the door on the right. 

“These are my private chambers. I don’t suppose I need to tell you to stay out of them. The other door is where you will stay. It has everything you will need here, including a small kitchen should you wish to cook or bake. You will be spending most of your time in a room off of my office which acts as my personal library, where you will find tomes about dark or ancient potions you wouldn’t find in the library. You are expected to be at the Head table for one meal a day to keep up the appearance as my apprentice, as well as attend all my classes, but you may bring your research there.”

He paused, his beetle-black eyes flickering over her for a moment as he considered his next words. For the first time all evening, his posture relaxed minutely, and Hermione was almost surprised by how… regular he seemed in this moment. His guard was down for once, and apparently he trusted Hermione with his most valuable asset: himself.

“This is a task that Dumbledore asked me to take on immediately after the Dark Lord regained power, and he would not entrust just anyone with it. Try not to disappoint him.” 

With that, his door swung open gracefully and he entered his chambers. Hermione caught a flash of marble before the door was closed behind him, leaving her alone in the hallway. She turned to her own chambers with a sigh and wearily opened the door, ready for a nice, hot shower and a soft bed.


	2. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is summoned to the Great Hall for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is book 6-divergent. In this AU, the trio finished all 7 years of school before spending a year looking for Horcruxes, at which point Hermione goes to Hogwarts.
> 
> Also, neither of the Battles at Hogwarts ever happened, Voldemort has remained mostly in the shadows, Dumbledore’s hand is not cursed, and neither is the position of DADA teacher.

Hermione woke early the next morning, having slept very fitfully the night before. She was anxious to get started with her research and help her best friends stay safe in their search for Horcruxes, which she couldn’t do very well laying in bed staring at the ceiling.

She had just gotten out of the shower and was preparing a cup of tea when a House Elf appeared out of nowhere in the tiny kitchen, wearing a towelette.

“Professor Snape says I is to tell Miss Granger to go to the Great Hall for breakfast, Miss,” the elf squeaked. She wrung her hands. “He says I is to tell her to come immediately.”

Hermione sighed, turning the stovetop off and saying goodbye to a nice, quiet morning of sitting and worrying.

“Thank you. What is your name?” Hermione asked politely.

“Dinky, Miss,” the House Elf replied. “Is Miss in need of anything before Dinky leaves?”

“No, thank you very much, Dinky,” Hermione said before the House Elf disappeared with the snap of her tiny fingers.

Hermione returned to the bedroom that would serve as her own while at Hogwarts, grabbing her robes to throw on over her jeans and jumper. She left her chambers sullenly, hoping that she would at least get early access to Snape’s private library for her effort.

When she reached the Great Hall, she was surprised to find that only the head table was up; the four student tables were folded against the walls, leaving the hall largely empty. Although it would be awkward to sit at a table alone, Hermione had been hoping that she wouldn’t have to sit at the head table until the feast tonight.

Her footsteps became less confident as she crossed the hall. Sitting at the same table as those who had taught her for so many years and were still in so many ways her superiors felt wrong, and yet she was expected to do it once a day!

Most of the professors were already eating, deep in conversation with each other. Snape was speaking to Dumbledore, gaze never leaving his plate as he cut up his meal. The seat next to his was open, presumably reserved for her; next to the empty seat was Mad-Eye Moody, who had agreed to take the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts after Umbridge had left. Hermione shuddered, remembering how difficult his NEWTs classes had been, but was pleased to see he was back again this year.

Hermione made her way slowly to the table and then around it, self conscious of the fact that the entire faculty was watching her. It seemed like a million years had passed since she entered the Hall by the time she took her seat next to Snape.

“This seat is for me, I presume?” Hermione asked Mad-Eye, who was too busy eating to be talking. He looked at her and nodded once. She gingerly pulled the chair out and took a seat, helping herself to a small scoop of potatoes and eggs.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said cheerily, leaning forward to see around Snape. “I’m glad you could join us.”

“It was my pleasure,” Hermione replied truthfully. Now that she was seated and served, she was glad she had joined the faculty for breakfast instead of eating tea and biscuits alone in her room, left to her increasingly worrisome thoughts.

“I see Dinky found you well,” Snape noted, turning his gaze to her before forking some eggs into his mouth.

“Yes, she seems very sweet.” Hermione didn’t mention that she would have preferred another means of communication. Maybe if it became a regular habit she would broach the subject with Professor Snape.

Snape hummed in agreement, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “I thought I could show you my library this morning. The sooner you can start, the better, and since you won’t have to be at any of my classes today, it’ll be a chance for you to work in peace.”

 _Just as I’d hoped,_ Hermione thought as she took a sip of pumpkin juice.

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Professor.”

Snape finished the last of his eggs and wiped his mouth once more. “It is no hardship. Meet me in my office at ten o’clock and I’ll show you how to get in; I have a few last minute things to do to prepare for classes tomorrow. Headmaster,” he added with a bow of his head before sweeping away, out of the Great Hall and presumably down to the dungeons.

Dumbledore, vision now unhindered, smiled at Hermione. “It’s good to see you, Miss Granger. I’m so glad you agreed to help; when Professor Snape brought the idea up to me, I thought you might be too busy with Harry and Mr. Weasley to join us.”

 _When Snape brought it up?_ Hadn’t he said it was Dumbledore’s idea, or had she just assumed that?

“As much as I miss them, this seems like the logical thing to do. I taught them all the wards and spells they needed to know, so there was no use in all three of us being there,” Hermione said.

Dumbledore nodded. “Besides, there is no one better at going to a library in a time of need than you,” he replied, eyes twinkling.

Hermione laughed. “I’m glad my reputation precedes me, Professor.” She glanced down at her wristwatch; it was 9:45 and she wanted to stop by the library to see what books might come in use later in the year. She scooped the last of her meager breakfast into her mouth and swallowed hastily.

“Shall we expect you at the Feast tonight?” Dumbledore asked as she stood to leave.

“I suppose I should be here, as the apprentice Potions master,” Hermione agreed, privately glad she wouldn’t miss the Great Feast.

“Then we shall see you then. Good luck, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore smiled at her once more before turning to Professor McGonagall on his other side and striking up a conversation.

Hermione made her way to the dungeons, mind already abuzz with ideas for her day (and year) of research.


	3. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finally gets to see the secret library hidden in Snape’s office.

Hermione knocked hesitantly on the door to Snape’s office, heart stuttering and palms sweaty. She had no reason to be nervous—they were books, for goodness sake!—but for some reason, as she had made her way to the dungeons, her excitement had faded and now she felt as though her fight or flight instinct had been triggered.

“Come in,” Snape said from inside the office, voice as indiscernible as ever.

Hermione hesitated, wondering if she should return to her rooms to gather her supplies first, and was startled when the door swung open by itself.

“Need I send a written invitation, Granger?” Snape sneered from behind his desk. He rose from his chair and went to the shelf to his immediate right, which was lined with pickled somethings that Hermione didn’t care to look at long enough to identify.

“Shall I go gather my supplies before we begin, Professor?” Hermione asked from the doorway.

“That will be unnecessary. Once I’ve shown you around, you are free to come and go as you please.” Snape turned to look at her. “Unless you’d like to waste more of my time?”

“No, sir,” Hermione sighed, resigning herself to a long year of snide comments. “Please continue.”

“In order to access my library, you need only tap the top left jar with your wand three times, like this.” He demonstrated, his wand clanking against what appeared to be a jar of eel eyes. The entire shelf began to glow, as if illuminated from behind, before fading and revealing a plain wooden door.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. This was it.

Snape gestured to the door, inviting her to go first. She crossed the small office and turned the handle nervously, pushing the door open to reveal a small stone room with shelves carved out all up the walls. The room was circular with a desk in the middle, a ladder propped against the far side of the room to access the higher books.

As Hermione stepped in, she could feel the ancient magic in the room - its static smell and the way it made her fingertips tingle. She suppressed a shudder. “Has this been here since Hogwarts was built?”

Over her left shoulder, standing in the doorway, Snape shrugged. “Or sometime soon after, it is believed. Some of these books predate the Founders themselves.”

“Merlin,” Hermione breathed in awe.

“They predate him as well, yes.” Hermione was surprised to hear a hint of a smirk in his voice. She turned to look at him, but he seemed as stoic as ever.

“Have you read very many of these books?” Hermione asked, walking around the perimeter of the room and taking in all the old relics contained therein.

“Not as many as I would like, but enough to know that here is where you will find an answer if anywhere. This is probably where the Dark Lord learned about the potion that brought him back to power—no doubt Slughorn gave him access to whatever he liked.” Snape’s voice was tinged with disdain.

It certainly was strange to think that only fifty years ago, Voldemort had roamed this very castle, exploring the corridors and looking for the secrets the castle had to offer. How else would he have found the Chamber of Secrets?

Hermione was jolted out of her reverie when a sharp pain traveled up her arm. She’d been running her fingertips along the spines of the books, and one had zapped her, it seemed.

“Ouch,” she cried at the unexpected pain, jerking her arm away from the shelf.

“That’s another thing. Some of these books are protected by powerful wards that I have not had the time nor inclination to remove, and it is possible you will need to remove them to find the potion you seek. They are difficult to penetrate and may be dangerous, so do not take the task lightly.” Snape sounded as detached as if he were giving a Potions lecture, arms folded over his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She turned to look at him, dread having faded and been replaced with determination. “Is there anything else you’d like to show me, or shall I go get my things?”

“I believe I have told you everything you need to know. When you’re done, just tap the door three times with your wand and the shelf will return. You mustn’t leave the door visible, for this room is full of forbidden books that students should never have access to.”

Hemione nodded eagerly, almost skipping back to the door in her excitement. Finally, a challenge, something to stimulate her mind, test her abilities… Snape stood aside as Hermione returned to his office and headed for the door, but was stopped short.

“I have also bought a few books that may be of some use to you. They are in the desk drawer. The library books must remain in the library at all times, but these books you may keep.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said, taken aback by the unexpected kindness.

 _Idiot_. He wants to win the war, of course he’ll help however he can. But still…

Snape bowed his head in recognition of her thanks, solemn. “I expect to see you at the Feast tonight, but until then, you may peruse the library at your will.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, opening the door to Snape’s office. Snape remained immobile next to the library door as the office door closed behind her.

~*~*~*~

When Hermione returned ten minutes later, she wasn’t surprised that she had been left alone to her studies. She was relieved—having Snape breathing down her neck while she worked would have made things much more difficult, and she enjoyed the solitude that came with good, old-fashioned research.

She closed the library door lest Snape return to his office and wish to be undisturbed, then set her school bag on the floor next to the the desk. Now, to pick a book—there were hundreds in here, many in languages she could not understand, but no one ever said this was going to be an easy task. In fact, quite the opposite.

Remembering what Snape had told her just minutes before, she opened the drawer on the desk, surprised to find several books on Ancient Runes as well as a few on potions ingredients and general language identification and translation.

In all, these books must have cost a small fortune, but Hermione supposed Snape had little else to spend his money on, living at a boarding school for most of the year rent-free. Still, though, the thought that had gone into this was appreciated.

Right. Back to task. After several minutes of fretful searching, Hermione decided to grab the first book that caught her eye. It was a small, emerald green tome, on the shelf closest to the door. It was called “Potions of the Middle East”. Just a good a start as any, she supposed.

With a sigh, she sat down at the desk and opened the book before her, the smell of old books and secrets filling her nose.


	4. The Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first years are sorted after the Sorting Hat delivers a mysterious song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my wonderful beta Paia! <3

Thirty minutes before the Hogwarts Express was due to reach Hogsmeade Station, there came a brisk knock at the library door, startling Hermione out of her reading. Before she could answer, the door swung open.

“Now would be the time to pack your things for the evening and get ready for the Feast. You have fifteen minutes to be down at the Great Hall.” Snape’s eyes swept across the desk, where several feet of parchment had already been filled with notes and two quills lay broken in Hermione’s haste to write.

“I suppose I’ll be introduced as your apprentice by Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione asked nervously.

“That is the Headmaster’s plan, yes.” Snape left the doorway, retreating into his office.

Hermione nodded resolutely, nervous to be (even momentarily) the centre of attention of the entire student body.

_Where’s your Gryffindor courage? You’ve faced much worse. A few hundred pairs of eyes on you won’t kill you._

Still, it made her stomach flip. She rolled up her parchment gingerly, trying not to smudge the ink, and put it in her bag. From his chair at his desk, Snape watched her close and reseal the library entrance and leave. Hermione made her way to her chambers, retrieving her plain black robes from her bedroom before entering the bathroom with a sigh. She looked hopelessly at her reflection.

Gods, but this hair. There was no point in trying to tame it—the best she could do was pull it up. She magicked it into a knot on the top of her head, but it looked too much like a bird’s nest. She sighed, deciding to move the knot to the nape of her neck. At least she didn’t have any hair in her face.

Next, makeup. That was easy; just a quick spell or two and she had a light coating of eye makeup and a bit of lip gloss. _There_. She looked presentable, at least. She quickly unzipped the casual robe she had been wearing and traded it for the slightly dressier black robe.

She left her quarters with five minutes to spare, which meant she would have to sit at the head table for an extra five minutes. It wasn’t until she was halfway there that she decided she should have stayed in her rooms for a little longer to avoid any unwanted attention.

Well, a little small talk never hurt anybody. Besides, she’d spent all day alone, and needed to get out of her own head a bit. Perhaps she could discuss her (admittedly limited) theories with Snape until the students joined them.

The head table was about half full; among the missing were Moody, Hagrid (of course, he was waiting on the train), McGonagall, whom Hermione had seen in the entrance hall, and (surprisingly) Dumbledore.

Of course, Snape was seated and looked as though he had been settled in for some time. He was surrounded by empty chairs, and—Hermione smirked—she was almost loath to end his solitude. All the same, she pulled out the chair next to him and seated herself.

“Good evening, Professor,” she said politely, even though she’d seen him only twenty minutes ago.

“Miss Granger,” Snape nodded his head in greeting, taking a sip from the goblet before him.

“I thought you might want to know how my first day went,” Hermione continued hesitantly after several moments of silence.

Snape hummed noncommittally. Hermione sighed inwardly, resolving herself to a long evening.

“I was reading about jinn in the Middle East and thought that perhaps Voldemort—”

“Do not say that name in front of me,” Snape hissed, setting his goblet down.

Hermione shrunk slightly in her seat. After a moment, she continued, “You-Know-Who, then, perhaps struck up a bargain with some magical creature like a jinn or genie and that the potion was more of a rite than the actual act of bringing him back.”

She was pleased that Snape seemed to consider this. “Since I was not there for the event at hand, it would be difficult for me to say, but it is certainly possible.”

At that moment, Dumbledore took his seat beside Snape. 

“Miss Granger! I’m glad you made it. I was afraid you would get too caught up in your studies and lose track of time.”

“I did, but Professor Snape came and got me,” Hermione admitted with a grateful glance to the potions master. Snape had picked his goblet up again and was taking a sip.

“Then I suppose thanks are in order,” said Dumbledore with a smile to Snape, who ignored this as well. “The students are due to arrive in Hogsmeade any minute. Until then, why don’t we discuss the changes being made here at Hogwarts this year?”

Hermione tuned much of the rest of the conversation out, mind focused instead on jinn and genies. It wasn’t until students began to file in to the Great Hall that she forced herself to pay attention to her surroundings. She noticed several students cast her suspicious looks, but she resolutely ignored them, focusing instead on her goblet of pumpkin juice. 

Once all but the first years were seated, McGonagall filed the eleven year olds in two by two. They looked more like five year olds than eleven; Hermione could scarcely believe she was ever that small, let alone when she was a first year. They all stood nervously down the middle aisle, staring at the Sorting Hat with varying levels of discomfort.

The Sorting Hat’s mouth opened wide as he began to sing. As always, he sang of the four houses and their merits, but a line at the end caught Hermione’s attention: “Though time and space may separate you / from your friends and foes / never fear, for Hogwarts will / always welcome you home.”

She glanced over at Snape, who didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. Time and space? That sounded more like time travel than homesickness. Did the Hat know something about the war? Was it a clue to how to stop Voldemort? Hermione frowned, resolving to ask Dumbledore what he thought of the line once they had time to talk.

*~*~*~*

After the Feast, Dumbledore stood, holding his arms open wide as if welcoming everyone into an embrace. “How very exciting it is to be back at Hogwarts this year. We have some changes to discuss, but before that, let me introduce our newest staff member.”

He looked to Hermione, who was still seated. Snape nudged her with his elbow none too gently and she stood up awkwardly, aware of the hundreds of eyes upon her.

“Miss Hermione Granger will be joining us this year as the apprentice Potions Master, under the guidance of Professor Snape,” finished Dumbledore.

Hermione smiled tensely and sat back down, feeling her face ignite into flames. Damn it! She had tried so hard to maintain a cool composure.

“Well done, Miss Granger,” murmured Snape, leaning in toward her as Dumbledore continued to speak.

For some reason, this made her blush further. _Merlin, I wish I could sink into the ground…_

“—changes in our rules,” Dumbledore was saying. “As a precaution, all trips to Hogsmeade will be suspended until further notice.” The Great Hall erupted into impassioned whispers. “This is due to a rise in the number of Snatchings that have taken place over the last several months, and the students’ safety must always be our priority. Additionally, the Grounds will be off-limits to students unless accompanied by a faculty member as fly-over hexings have made a resurgence and Lord Voldemort would not be above bewitching a student to gain access to Hogwarts.”

The whispers became even louder. Dumbledore raised his hands again and waited until the Hall was quiet to continue.

“Lastly, and on a lighter note, we will be bringing back the Yule Ball this year to foster inter-House relationships and camaraderie. This event will be open to Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Years as well as their guests, should a guest be younger. We hope this will encourage you to step out of your comfort zone and meet people from a different House than your own.”

“And now, we are all full and tired. Off to bed!”

Dumbledore sat suddenly, and the room erupted into chatter as students rose and began to file out, making their way about the castle to their dormitories. Hermione, who hadn’t eaten that much in a very long time, felt as if her eyelids were made of lead. Once all the students had gone—which took a surprisingly long time, but the doorway was somewhat narrow after all—the faculty began to disperse.

Just as Hermione went to stand, Snape stopped her. 

“Miss Granger, I wish to give you your Potions schedule. You are to be at every class, but you may bring the books I have given you and sit quietly while I teach.” Snape flicked his wand and a small roll of parchment appeared with all the times that he had classes. “If I do not see you at breakfast, I will see you in the morning for class. I have matters to discuss with the Headmaster, so I will bid you a good night.”

Hermione took the parchment from him and glanced at it before standing. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was a good thing her feet knew where she was going, for she was far too tired to think of anything besides her bed as she made her way to her rooms.


	5. Classes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes start. Also, Hermione gets an unexpected owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long since I updated. College life and Current Events (you know what I mean, it’s early 2020, and my quarantine has not been as productive as planned) have made life a little crazy.
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to [PaiaLovesPie](ao3.org/users/PaiaLovesPie)!

Hermione decided to take her breakfast in her room that morning, not quite ready to face the entire school again. For some reason, sitting at the head table made her feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, and it was not her intention to get burned this morning.

Finished nearly half an hour before Snape’s first class was to start, Hermione made her way to Snape’s office and knocked lightly on the door. To her surprise, Snape answered with a sharp, “Come in.”

She opened the door slowly, afraid to get on the Potions Master’s nerves, which seemed already frayed. However, Snape’s scowl shrunk slightly when he realized who his visitor was.

“Sorry, I just wanted to get a few of your books out of the library before class,” Hermione said, heart thumping wildly. Why must she react so when around this man? What was it about him that made her so nervous, so on edge?

“Proceed, then,” Snape replied with an idle wave of his hand. “I was afraid you were a student coming to tell me you melted your cauldron already.”

“Has that happened on the first morning before?” Hermione asked, unmoving, curious despite herself.

Snape looked at her evenly for a moment, then deadpanned, “Miss Granger, almost every year I have at least one student come to me the first day with some sort of disaster for me to fix. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Hermione bit back a smirk, surprised by his dry humour. “That’s very unfortunate, Professor,” she managed, allowing herself to crack a small smile. Snape’s lips twisted slightly, so slightly that Hermione only noticed it because she was hoping for it.

“Not as unfortunate as when students come to me with relationship woes. I’d take a melted cauldron any day over a sobbing fourth year girl.”

Her surprise must have shown on her face. Snape rolled his eyes. “I am the Head of Slytherin House. Students come to me with problems, just as you went to Professor McGonagall with your problems. Although—” he paused, lip curling distastefully—“given your track record, it seems your little trio was more of an ‘act first, ask for advice second’ kind of group. I doubt you ever went to Minerva for guidance.”

Hermione grimaced guiltily under his critical gaze, finally removing herself from his doorway and making her way to the hidden door. She tapped on the required jar three times, a small, triumphant smile rising to her lips when the door appeared. She glanced back to Snape, who was watching her carefully.

_Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s being with Snape that makes me feel like a bug under a glass._

*~*~*~*

When Hermione entered the Potions classroom, she was surprised to see a second, slightly smaller desk tucked in the front left corner of the room. To accommodate it, Snape’s desk had been moved slightly to the right; Hermione couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Snape’s outrage at having his desk pushed aside.

She passed by the work stations that had been so familiar to her for seven long years, instead taking her new seat at the front of the room. She set her rucksack on the desk and was beginning to pull out her books when a student entered.

The student, a Ravenclaw who couldn’t be more than a third year, hesitated when she saw Hermione. She was small for her age, at least it seemed to Hermione. Her chestnut brown hair was cut into a bob; she tucked a loose strand behind her ear as she glanced back to the door, obviously considering leaving the room.

“It’s alright, you can sit down,” Hermione soothed her. The girl set her bag down on the table with a dull thump; the seams were stretched to their breaking point, straining against the books held within. Hermione stifled a grin—this girl could be a younger version of herself.

“You’re Harry Potter’s friend, aren’t you?” the girl asked as she settled into the front middle workstation, pulling out her textbook.

“Yes, I am,” Hermione replied, suddenly wary. “We met our first year at Hogwarts.”

The girl sighed. “I heard that when he was my age, he went into the Chamber of Secrets and saved the school. I wish I was friends with him.”

“He’s a lot less cool than the stories make him out to be,” Hermione whispered conspiratorially with a pang of sadness. _He could be dead right now, for all I know…_

Just then, Snape barged into the room, followed by several cowed-looking boys.

“I see Miss Holmes was successful in being the first student present, as always,” Snape sneered as he took his seat behind his desk. “I hope she hasn’t bothered you too much, Miss Granger.”

“Not at all.” Hermione smiled reassuringly at the girl, who was quickly going red, as more students began to trickle in.

Snape hummed in incredulity, crossing his arms over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

Hermione ignored him, pulling the last few books out of her bag and settling down into her chair. She was thankful that she wouldn’t be sitting on a wooden bench all day, but being in front of the class was rather nerve-wracking. Looks like she was going to have to get used to it.

Without further ado, she opened her book and began to read, parchment and quill at the ready for notes. The sounds of simmering cauldrons and muttered incantations soon filled the dungeon, and despite her reservations, the magic tingling in the air put her more at ease.

*~*~*~*

It wasn’t until the third day of classes that Hermione ran into trouble.

As soon as the seventh year Slytherin boys began directing their gazes at her, she knew she was about to become the center of attention during a Potions class.

Before she could fret too much, Snape billowed in, but still the boys looked at her. Hermione ignored them, hoping Snape would begin to lecture before anything could happen, but her hopes were dashed when what appeared to be the ringleader of the Slytherins raised his hand.

“Yes, mister Baddock,” Snape sighed.

“I was just wondering, sir,” the boy began politely, casting a glance back to Hermione, “why you chose a _Gryffindor_ to be your Apprentice. Wasn’t there a Slytherin who would be better-suited?”

Hermione looked to Snape, sure that he would be able to come up with a suitable answer, but nonetheless, an icy ball of fear formed in her stomach. If even the students were suspicious, surely Lord Voldemort would be if he found out a Gryffindor was studying under the Slytherin Head of House.

“I can assure you that Miss Granger is the most highly-qualified individual for the job, and I will personally ensure no House prejudice influences her actions while I am here,” Snape answered smoothly. “Now, if anyone wishes to further question my judgement or lack thereof, I suggest you speak up _now._ ”

Baddock’s smug smirk slipped away as the entire room was still and silent. The boys had stopped looking at Hermione and instead focused their gazes on their tables. Hermione smirked slightly to herself as Snape flicked his wand and notes appeared on the board. 

“Since there doesn’t appear to be any more questions, let us start today’s lesson.”

*~*~*~*

Hermione was shocked when Pigwidgeon appeared as she was leaving the Great Hall from dinner in late September. The tiny owl carried a small envelope, marked only with an H, in Harry’s handwriting. With shaking hands, Hermione took the letter and opened it, finding a short note:

‘I have something you might find useful. Meet us by Grawp’s clearing this Thursday at 2am. -H’

She turned the piece of parchment over, fishing a quill out of her bag. She scribbled a hasty reply and handed it to Pig, heart soaring at the chance to see her friends again.


	6. The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron explain why they summoned Hermione and leave her with a parting gift.

Hermione held her breath as she waved her wand over her cloak. It was her oldest cloak and several sizes too small for formal wizarding attire, the seams starting to fray and the fabric showing signs of wear in certain patches, but it would work just fine for her current need. She’d read that casting a Bedazzlement Hex on a cloak would turn it invisible until the hex wore off, but she’d never actually tested this. To her immense relief, the fabric slowly faded into nothingness, leaving a barely visible shimmering in its place.

_ Perfect. _

Her newly-formed invisibility cloak would last anywhere from a few minutes to a few months, depending on the strength of the hex, and Hermione desperately hoped it would at least last her trip out to the forest and back. She glanced at the clock above her fireplace—1:42 in the morning; if she left now, she would be several minutes early to meet Harry, but she was getting antsy.

Decisively, she covered herself with the cloak and made her way to the door. She pressed her ear against it, listening in the unlikely event Snape was in the hallway, but it seemed she was in the clear. Patting her pocket to make sure she had her beaded bag, she carefully opened her door. The hallway was dark and silent, but still, she crept along as quietly as she could. It wasn’t as though Hermione had never been out of her rooms past curfew—a curfew she was no longer bound to, as a staff member—but still, her heart was beating nearly out of her chest as she slowly climbed the stairs to the Great Hall.

It wasn’t until she had made her way to the grounds and fresh air filled her lungs that she could breathe freely. Wind rustled the leaves in the trees by the lake, and small ripples lapped the shore quietly. Somewhere in the direction of Hogsmeade, a dog barked. The image of Sirius in his animagus form at King’s Cross Station entered her mind, unbidden, and Hermione smiled sadly to herself. Only when she was far enough in the forest that she could no longer see the lantern outside Hagrid’s hut did she draw her wand and cast Lumos, the light casting an eerie glow on everything it touched.

Although it had been several years since she had been to Grawp’s clearing, she found it easily enough; a small trail had formed from Hagrid going to and fro, and her feet seemed to know where to take her anyway. The giant was nowhere to be seen, which relieved Hermione. She removed her cloak and sat down on a felled tree (courtesy of Grawp), waiting for her friends to arrive. To pass the time, she began reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood. She had only reached eight when, across the clearing, Harry and Ron appeared from under the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione rose and greeted them both with an almost painfully tight hug; Ron stumbled backward from the force of her impact.

“Woah, ‘Mione,” he laughed as both boys wrapped an arm around her.

Hermione pulled back, examining both of them closely. They were both scruffy and slightly dirty; Harry’s hair had reached a new height of untidiness, and Ron’s bangs fell into his eyes.

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?” Harry asked seriously.

“No, of course not,” Hermione replied, searching in her pocket for her beaded bag.

“Good. We let ourselves get spotted in Wales a couple days ago to throw the Death Eaters off, hopefully they think we’re still down around Bangor.”

Hemione reached into her beaded purse and pulled out a bag full of roast beef sandwiches and a large jug of pumpkin juice, courtesy of the house elves in the kitchen. Ron’s eyes widened and he snatched up a sandwich, biting into it with a moan of pleasure.

“’ou’re the best,” he sighed through a mouthful of roast beef. Hermione smiled slightly as she placed a cushioning charm on the ground and they all took a seat around their makeshift feast.

“You should really thank Dobby and Winky. I tried to give them some spare tea cozies I had knitted during our fifth year as payment, but they both declined.”

The boys glanced at each other with a smirk but withheld remark.

“Anyway, how’s the search going? Have you found anything?”

Harry swallowed his bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Actually, yes. We found the orphanage Tom Riddle grew up in. It’s abandoned now, but there are powerful wards up that we’re still working on getting through. That book you gave us has been a big help.”

Somewhere in the too-close vicinity, a wolf howled; the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stood up, and she searched the gently swaying shadows of the trees for any creature that may be listening.

After a startled glance around of his own, Ron continued, “We think that there’s some kind of blood seal like there was at the cave Dumbledore took Harry to, but it’s hard to translate the runes. They’re in a combination of languages, so we have to keep flipping around in different books to translate it.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, Snape gave me a book that’s been very helpful in translating runes, perhaps you could find a copy somewhere. I’d let you borrow mine, but I need to use it. Did you bring anything for me to look at? Maybe I could help.”

Harry nodded and shrugged off his knapsack, reaching elbow-deep into it (Hermione had charmed it like her beaded bag, to Harry’s excitement.) He withdrew a scrap of parchment about six inches long with runes, about a third of them translated.

Hermione sighed. “I wish I’d thought to bring my books with me. I should have known you might need help with something like this.”

Harry’s smile was warm and kind. “That’s alright, we probably shouldn’t stay for much longer anyway. We just hoped you might have any ideas.”

She looked over the runes again more carefully. “This rune here, the one that looks kind of like an ‘o’, is a placeholder when it’s in the middle of a word, but if it’s the last letter, it makes an ‘-ng’ sound instead. It’s a phonetic language based on Latin, so it will translate directly to Latin. I’m not so sure about some of the other runes, though.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Ron said he recognized some of the runes from your Arithmancy papers, so I’m glad we asked.” Hermione looked to the ginger in surprise, who shrugged with a faint tinge of pink in his cheeks. “But anyway, that's not why we’re here.”

“You said you have something useful for me?” Hermione asked as Harry once again fished around in his knapsack. He removed a small vial that held a smoky blue substance—a memory. Hermione took the vial gingerly and looked at it. She shivered, but not due to the cold and damp if the forest; she felt as though she were holding some dark artifact.

“Apparently Peter Pettigrew has fallen out of favor with V—You-Know-Who, and we came across him one night in Knockturn Alley while we listened for ideas for where Horcruxes might be hidden.” Hermione raised her eyebrows in alarm and opened her mouth to chastise them, but Harry continued on, “Then Ron had the brilliant idea to take the memory of the night You-Know-Who returned.”

“You know, so you could see the potion that brought him back first-hand. So we managed to pull Pettigrew into the little alley next to Borgin and Burkes and take his memory, then we Obliviated him and sent him on his way,” Ron finished, smiling proudly at his own cleverness.

Hermione was, admittedly, impressed. “And you’re sure no one noticed you pull Pettigrew aside?”

“I set off a Decoy Detonator to distract everyone,” Ron confirmed.

Hermione tucked the vial into her bag. “I’m sure this will come in handy. If only you could have gotten You-Know-Who explaining the potion to Pettigrew. He might have said something about its origin.”

Harry nodded as they all stood, preparing to leave. “We thought about that later, but we only had one vial.”

Hermione hugged them both again, this time individually. A lump formed in her throat as she looked back and forth at her two best friends, who were once again going off into the unknown, one of them being the most hunted wizard in Britain. “I’ll keep researching. I know there has to be an answer here somewhere. I just have to find it.”

Harry reached out and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “We know, Hermione. If anyone can stop You-Know-Who, it’s you.”

Suddenly, a twig cracked not twenty yards away. All three whipped out their wands and, without a thought, two “Stupefy”s and an “Expelliarmus” rang out in the clearing. Harry’s Expelliarmus missed by inches, but miraculously, Hermione and Ron both hit their target despite it being a literal shot in the dark. There was a thud—they went to investigate. There was a chance that it was just a creature lurking about in the dark, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“I don’t see how it could be a Snatcher, none of us said his name,” Ron whispered as they approached, wand tips lit.

“Maybe they have wards set around the perimeter of the grounds?” Hermione whispered in reply.

“They’re too stupid to set a ward that we couldn’t detect,” Harry scoffed. “We checked for any before we came.”

Their wands lit up the booted feet of a man, and Hermione’s heart jumped in horror. His legs and torso were slowly revealed, but the robes gave nothing away. It wasn’t until his head was illuminated that Hermione’s heart skipped several beats—whoever it was was wearing a Death Eater mask.

“Could you have been followed?” Hermione asked, listening closely for any more movement but hearing none.

Harry crouched beside the man’s head. “I don’t think so. Let’s see who it is.”

Hermione held her breath as the mask was pulled off before she let in a soft gasp at the man who lay unconscious, a small trickle of blood oozing down his temple. “Professor Snape!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is already written; I plan on uploading it next Saturday. Thanks for sticking with this story!


	7. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tends to the professor she accidentally injured; Snape isn’t very pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, any mistakes are mine.

Hermione looked up at her friends in horror.

“Not our fault he was skulking about the forest in the middle of the night,” Ron muttered defensively as he pulled the mask back down, but he too looked stricken.

“He must have been summoned by You-Know-Who,” Hermione felt her stomach roil as she considered the fact that the man laying on the ground before her had likely been in the presence of one of the most powerful dark wizards in history just minutes ago.

“You have to take him back to the castle,” Harry said needlessly, face taut in worry. “Do you think Madam Pomfrey would ask questions?”

“I would hope so,” Hermione replied. “I trust her, though.”

“Can you trust the other students in the hospital wing though?” Harry pointed out. “Unless you can think of a reasonable explanation for Snape being hit by two Stupefys that doesn’t involve Ron and I, you can’t trust word from getting out that Ron and I were here.”

Hermione worried at her lower lip, thinking. “I have a book on remedial healing in my room. I’m sure there’s something in there that could help me heal him myself.”

Ron let out a deep breath. “We’re just lucky Harry didn’t hit him as well. Remember when McGonagall was hit by four Stunners our fifth year?”

“Right, and she was at St. Mungo’s for the rest of our O.W.L.s. Remember Peeves chasing Umbridge out with her walking stick?” Harry added. The trio smiled at the memory.

Hermione looked back down to Snape, whose skin was nearly paper-white compared to the trickle of blood that was dripping into his hair. “Right, well, I can levitate him back to the castle. I’ll take him back to my rooms, I guess.”

She looked back up to her friends. “Take care of yourselves. Send me owls if you can. I’ll help you however I’m able.”

The boys smiled at her as they put the cloak back on.

“We know, ‘Mione. We couldn’t do this without you. Good luck with your research.”

Hermione waited until she was fairly certain Harry and Ron had left before looking back down to her former professor. “Well, bollocks.”

*~*~*~*

Hermione was very careful to hold the Disillusioned Snape steady as she made her way down the dungeon steps. Her trip across the grounds and into the castle had been uneventful, save for the near run-in between Snape’s shoulder and the oak door.

It wasn’t until they reached her rooms that Hermione hesitated. As she reached for the knob of her own door, the door to Snape’s quarters had flung itself open, to Hermione’s great surprise.

Surely Snape would be more comfortable in his own room when he awoke, Hermione reasoned with herself, glancing at the unconscious Potions master. Besides, he probably has better supplies for healing than I do.

After only another second of deliberation, she turned on her heel and led Snape into his own quarters. Directly inside, much like her own rooms, was a small kitchenette with grey marble counters. Further in was a small sitting area, only slightly larger than the one Hermione had. His was furnished with a large leather sofa with two matching armchairs on either side of a fireplace. Covering the far wall were bookshelves lined with books and magazines of all shapes and sizes; some looked brand-new and others looked well-worn. In other circumstances, Hermione would have loved to peruse his personal collection, but for now her surroundings were only given a cursory glance.

She went straight to the hallway that separated the kitchen and sitting room, hoping that the rest of the layout was the same as her own quarters. The two remaining doors were closed; the one on the right, same as her own, opened to reveal a bedroom. With a sigh of relief, Hermione threw the emerald green comforter back, revealing grey flannel sheets. She gently placed Snape on the bed, and with a whispered “finite incantatem,” removed the Disillusionment charm.

Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sight of the Death Eater mask, which she removed with trembling hands and set on the bedside table. Closing her eyes and trying to center herself in the moment, Hermione slowly passed her wand over Snape’s still form, running a diagnostic spell. To her immense relief, everything came back normal except for a minor fever—as far as she knew, all she really needed to do was heal the small gash on Snape’s temple and wait for him to regain consciousness, since multiple Stupefys were immune to Ennervate.

Hermione quickly healed Snape’s cut, which he had presumably received from falling to the forest floor, but she supposed it was possible he received it while away from Hogwarts. The thought filled her with an icy terror that she couldn’t quite explain. She then Scourgified the drying blood from Snape’s face and hair.

Now that the immediate danger was passed, Hermione sighed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she examined Snape. His dragon hide boots had dropped caked mud onto his sheets—face heating, Hermione carefully untied his shoes and removed them before cleaning the sheets.

Snape was unnaturally still and silent, almost translucently pale. A very thin sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow as his body fought his fever—surely he would be more comfortable with a layer removed. Opting for a less hands-on approach, Hermione magically removed his robes, folding them carefully and setting them at the foot of the bed. Beneath his robes Snape wore a pair of black trousers and a simple white button-down. It was odd to see him wearing something other than his rigid black teaching robes.

After pulling the thin bedsheet over him, Hermione sat back on her heels, task completed. Now that her adrenaline had worn off, she realized how exhausted she was; it was nearly three in the morning, and she’d been up early the morning before. She was half-tempted to crawl into bed beside her unconscious mentor, but even the thought made her face burn in shame.

 _I can leave the bedroom door open and kip on the sitting room couch. If I cast a Sonorus charm, surely I’ll hear if he starts to wake up,_ Hermione reasoned with herself. Mind made up, she stood, pointing her wand at Snape and casting the amplifying charm. His breathing, which had before been all but silent, was now a soft, steady whooshing, like waves hitting the shore.

Hermione turned and made her way back down the hall to the sitting room. Laying over the back of one of the armchairs was a navy blue fleece blanket; after a moment of hesitation, she grabbed it and laid her invisibility cloak over the arm of the chair. Sitting down on the couch, she fluffed the small decorative pillow that lay on the sofa and gingerly rested her head on it, pulling the blanket up to her chin. The dungeons were always chilly, and Snape’s fireplace was unlit. With a flick of her wand, the lanterns on the mantle dimmed, submerging the rooms into almost complete darkness.

_I’ll just rest my eyes for a few minutes before I go in and check on Snape again. Hopefully his fever will be gone._

The zip of Hermione’s skirt dug into her hip uncomfortably. Hermione sighed, resigning herself to a long night. She slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with strange runes and high, cold laughter.

*~*~*~*

Hermione sat up suddenly, reaching for her wand. With a flick, the lanterns flared back to life, filling the room with a warm, flickering glow.

Standing in the hallway, looking at Hermione with an unreadable expression, was a freshly-showered Snape. Hermione’s mouth fell open, face heating with embarrassment at being caught sleeping on her former professor’s sofa.

“Professor!” she said blearily, earning an eyebrow quirked in amusement. “You should have woken me sooner.”

Snape, wearing a fresh white shirt and black trousers similar to the ones he’d worn the day before, stepped into the kitchen and began filling his kettle. “I didn’t want to disturb you needlessly,” he replied simply, voice even.

Hermione rubbed her hands over her face, brain starting to wake up. “What time is it?”

“A little after six. Tell me, what part of ‘stay out of my rooms’ was unclear?”

Hermione felt her face heat once again, but this time in anger. “I was going to take you back to my rooms, but your door opened itself! I thought you’d be more comfortable here, and it isn’t as if I’ve been snooping around,” Hermione huffed.

Snape turned from the stove, arms crossed. “Perhaps not, but you seemed to have had no qualms about taking some unnecessary liberties anyway.”

Hermione looked down at the blanket covering the lower part of her body. “It was cold,” she explained, “and it’s not as if the blanket was hidden. It was just sitting out.”

“I was more referring to my own state of undress.”

Somewhat mortified, Hermione flushed. “You had a fever, so I took off your robes. But you’re right. I shouldn’t have entered your rooms. I’m sorry. I’ll be going now.”

Hermione folded the blanket with a flick of her wand and stood, striding over to where her cloak was draped and starting towards the door.

“I haven’t finished with you yet, Granger,” Snape snapped, stopping her in her tracks. Hermione crossed her arms and bit back several remarks.

“Please take a seat,” Snape added more civilly. Hermione turned on her heel and stomped back to the couch, perching herself on the edge, ready to flee at any moment. This whole ordeal was going south very quickly, and all Hermione wanted to do was to go back to her own rooms and get one last hour of sleep in her own bed before classes.

Snape removed the kettle from the stove as it began to whistle, pouring the water into a waiting teapot to steep. “I suppose thanks are in order for bringing me back here, despite the fact you’re to blame for my injury in the first place.”

He looked pointedly at her over his shoulder. Hermione crossed her arms. “You’re the one who was sneaking around the forest.”

“I had a good reason to be in the forest. Did you? I would assume so, given your _esteemed guests,_ ” he added with a sneer, “but then again, it’s entirely possible your little meeting was purely social.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry—Snape had heard Harry and Ron talking, then. Despite Dumbledore’s assurances that Snape was on the side of the Light (which was corroborated by the fact he was aiding Hermione’s research), it still made her uneasy that someone so close to Voldemort may have heard about their potential Horcrux finding.

“They sent me a note asking me to meet them, that they had something to give me,” Hermione replied, hoping her vague answer would satisfy him for the time being. Of course, that was too much to hope for.

“And what was so important that they would risk returning to one of the most heavily surveillanced places in the wizarding community?”

Hermione’s fist clenched around the beaded bag in her cloak pocket. “A memory from the night V—You-Know-Who returned,” Hermione amended at the look on Snape’s face.

A cabinet opened above Snape’s head and two teacups and saucers floated down, settling neatly on the counter beside the matching teapot. Snape poured tea into both. “How do you like your tea, Miss Granger?”

Surprised by the change of topic, Hermione blinked. “Uh, milk, two sugars, please.” Snape added the requested ingredients as well as a single sugar to his own cup before setting Hermione’s cup on the stand beside the sofa, settling himself into the nearest armchair and crossing a leg primly.

“Considering some of the only other witnesses to the Dark Lord’s return include a dead man and the Dark Lord himself, I’m left to assume Potter managed to steal the memory from Peter Pettigrew. Unless, of course, he selflessly offered his own memory for your perusal.”

Hermione hesitated. “They said that Pettigrew has fallen out of favor with You-Know-Who. Is that true?”

Snape remained silent for several moments, taking a ginger sip of his steaming tea. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to recant her question, Snape answered her, voice low. “The Dark Lord’s affections tend to be fickle at best. Only those closest to him remain in his good graces, and despite Pettigrew’s unwavering loyalty, I think the Dark Lord dislikes his lack of tact. He’s very… Gryffindor in his efforts at grabbing power,” Snape sneered.

Hermione sipped her own tea as she digested this. “Are his affections with you fickle? Sir?” she added politely.

Snape looked into the empty fireplace as he thought. “Despite the fact that I am not held in high regard with other Death Eaters for my close association with Dumbledore, I do not think the Dark Lord has any reason to question my loyalty. Some matters are simply beyond his understanding.”

She longed to ask what matters he referred to, but knew to hold her tongue. She doubted Snape had been this forthcoming about this topic with very many people, and she didn’t wish to push him on the subject.

Snape looked back to her after a moment, expression as unreadable as always. “I suggest you get some sleep before classes, Miss Granger. I doubt you were very comfortable last night, and it wouldn’t do for my apprentice to fall asleep on the job.” His lips twitched into a nearly imperceptible smile. “And might I add, thank you for your concern for my welfare, as well as your discretion. Being taken to the hospital wing in that outfit would have been rather unfortunate.”

Hermione nodded wordlessly, shocked by his display of gratitude. Had she missed brain damage when diagnosing him? She had never seen him so… normal. It was as though he had lifted a veil and offered her a glimpse into a version of himself that few had ever seen before.

Hermione stood and placed her cloak over her arm, picking up her teacup and saucer. With another, slightly awkward, nod, she made her way to the kitchen sink and carefully placed her dishes in. Without another word, she took her leave of Snape and entered her own rooms, scarcely cognizant enough to remove her shoes and skirt before climbing into bed.

As she once again drifted into a slightly more comfortable sleep, Severus Snape stared at the now-empty couch, eyebrows bunched. He had much to think about.


	8. The Pensieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione borrows the Pensieve from Dumbledore and leaves his office with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _FIRST OF ALL, I added a subtitle to the title, but since there is no subtitle field, the title has simply been changed from “The Apprentice” to “The Apprentice, or 1001 Impossible Things”. It’s the exact same story as before, just with a slightly longer title. Sorry for any confusion._
> 
> Also, sorry this chapter took so long to upload, but for once, I have valid excuses. I won’t go into details, but they include hospitalization and a death in the family.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this was worth the wait. I think this is the longest chapter yet! Thanks as always to my wonderful friend and beta [Paia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/pseuds/Paia_Loves_Pie), who is a writer of awesome Mystrade fics among other talents.

Hermione cracked her eyes open, yawning widely. She scratched her cheek idly as she checked the clock sitting on her bedside table. She let out an expletive and threw the covers off, fumbling with the buttons to the shirt she’d been too tired to remove before falling asleep.

She tossed the old shirt to the ground, opting for a red jumper and black slacks to go under her robes. Hopping on one foot as she put on a sock, she looked again at the clock to make sure she hadn’t misread it.

She hadn’t, and the first potions class of the day began in three minutes.

She slipped into her flats and shrugged her robe on; she could zip it as she ran to the lab. Casting a quick teeth cleaning charm—something she rarely did, preferring the Muggle way of brushing her teeth which had been ingrained in her by her dentist parents—she glanced at herself in the mirror.

Well, her hair she could do nothing about besides pull it back; she grabbed an elastic and did so with practiced ease. She turned away from her mirror and dashed to her door, wrenching it open with more force than necessary in her haste. She dashed down the hallway, torso twisted awkwardly as she reached for the zipper to her robes, yanking it up until securely fastened.

 _Damn._ The door to the potions lab was closed, which would mean she would have to draw more attention to her near-tardiness. She opened the door as quietly as possible, but still the entire back half of the room turned around to see who had just arrived.

Trying to summon some of the confidence that seemed to come so easily to Snape, she strode down the aisle and planted herself firmly in her seat. The potions master barely glanced up from his marking.

“Glad you’ve decided to join us, Miss Granger.” His quiet voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“Misery loves company,” Hermione deadpanned, raising her eyebrows at the potions master. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to be respond so informally to him after the rather testy morning they’d had, but Hermione was in no mood to deal with Snape’s jabs with diplomacy.

Mercifully, Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line to suppress his answering smirk. He stood, flicking his wand to make his notes appear on the boards. Immediately, quills began scratching hastily; Snape was known to cover material fast and was not fond of repeating himself.

It was then that Hermione realized she had forgotten to bring any research with her. She hadn’t even left any of Snape’s books in the desk for herself. She glanced at Snape, who either ignored her or didn’t notice her. In either case, Hermione resolved herself to a long class period of wasted time.

*~*~*~*

Snape studiously ignored Hermione at dinner, instead taking an unnatural interest in his dinnerplate. That suited Hermione well; she still felt awkward about what has transpired in the early morning hours and their subsequent conversation.

He did, however, speak on Hermione’s behalf to Dumbledore, which both amused and irritated her.

“Headmaster, I believe Miss Granger has the need to borrow your Pensieve. It would seem she has received some pertinent information to her research that requires it.”

Hermione shot him a look—as if she couldn’t bring up the subject herself!—but Snape ignored her, going back to studying his leek soup as if hoping to practice Occlumency with its broth.

Dumbledore leaned forward, beaming at Hermione. “I would be happy to lend it to you, Miss Granger! I would offer it to you tonight, but I have a meeting with the Minister for Magic that will most likely run rather late.”

Hermione smiled graciously. “Thank you, Professor. I would be happy to pick it up tomorrow morning after breakfast. I could use it in your office, of course, but I’m afraid it might take me several hours to get everything I need from the memory and I would hate to intrude for so long.”

Dumbledore waved a hand airily.

“The Pensieve could be in no safer hands than Hermione Granger’s, I’m sure, as long as she has her spotless reputation to uphold,” Snape interjected dryly, apparently not as interested in his soup as he appeared. 

Although it was rather backhanded, an endorsement from Snape was an endorsement nonetheless.

Dumbledore clapped his hands with unreasonable delight. “Excellent! It’s settled then. You can pick up the Pensieve after breakfast tomorrow morning and return it whenever you’ve finished. I’m in no rush for it, unless I feel compelled to re-experience the delights of last week’s Quidditch match.”

Snape smirked as he buttered a dinner roll, presumably reminiscing on the way Slytherin had annihilated Gryffindor during Saturday’s match. Hermione rolled her eyes. _Men and their sports._

*~*~*~*

Instead of descending to the dungeons after breakfast the next morning as she had become accustomed to, she instead accompanied Dumbledore up to the seventh floor. The trip passed in amicable silence, at least on Hermione’s part—the Headmaster was busy humming a cheerful tune to himself and greeting the portraits they passed.

It wasn’t until the stone gargoyle had slid away and they were ascending the spiral staircase to Dumbledore’s office that Hermione finally spoke.

“Professor, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” she began hesitantly, not wanting to impose on any more of the Headmaster’s time than necessary.

“Ask away, dear girl, ask away,” Dumbledore replied breezily from several steps above her.

“There was something the Sorting Hat said during his song… I was wondering if you had any ideas about what it could mean.”

They stepped onto the landing and Dumbledore opened the door to his office, bowing Hermione in first.

“If I am remembering correctly, there was a line that was of some interest to me as well,” Dumbledore replied as Hermione took a seat across from his desk. The Headmaster, in turn, settled into his own chair and peered at her over his half-moon spectacles.

“He said something about time and space separating someone from their friends and enemies. Harry and Ron being in hiding fits the ‘space’ part, but by mentioning time, it makes me think he’s talking about something else.”

Dumbledore looked at her for several seconds before answering. “The Sorting Hat is very well-versed in current events, and many would argue even possesses some skill in Divination. It is possible that he is referring to events that have not yet transpired.”

“But _time_ ,” Hermione pressed. “A time reversal charm can only revert time to five hours prior to the casting of the charm, or it could cause irreparable damage. That hardly constitutes a separation by space and time. Besides, we destroyed all the Time Turners in the Department of Mysteries!”

Dumbledore’s smile grew slightly in response to Hermione’s fervor. “As you may be aware, a former classmate of yours is currently working at the Ministry conducting experiments on the limitations of time travel. Mr. Nott seems to be under the impression that more extensive time travel may be possible.”

“But that’s years away from fruition. Sir,” she added hastily.

“It is possible that someone from the future may use those Time Turners to come back to this time and _that_ is what the Sorting Hat refers to,” Dumbledore reminded her. “If that is the case, we can only hope they are on the side of the Light, or I would be afraid that we have very little chance of winning against Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold. _That_ idea hadn’t occurred to her, and it was much worse than anything she had been able to come up with.

Sensing her uneasiness, Dumbledore leaned back, smiling. “But these are just the musings of an old man. Besides, you’re already undertaking one impossible task—surely a couple more couldn’t hurt. Perhaps _you_ will need to come up with a way to travel through time and the Sorting Hat is aware of it.”

“Well _that’s_ a comforting idea,” Hermione muttered as Dumbledore rose with a chuckle and came around his desk.

“Enough speculation, I think. Only time will reveal the true meaning of the Sorting Hat’s song. For now, I will show you where I keep the Pensieve, and you may do with it what you please.”

Hermione stood, watching Dumbledore open a cupboard and pull out a large, shallow stone basin. He set it on a table nearby, and Hermione approached it cautiously. She had never seen anything quite like it, and the knowledge she knew to be stored within it was almost overwhelming.

As if reading her mind, Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder. “All of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses have left behind memories that they believed could be of some use someday. Feel free to peruse them as well.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione replied, still entranced by the silvery strands swirling in the basin. “I’ll take it straight to Professor Snape’s library.”

Dumbledore released her, and she cast a careful levitation charm on it.

“Keep it as long as you need; I have no use for it at the moment. Good luck, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded in farewell as she left his office, Pensieve floating just in front of her. For once, the castle seemed to be in a benevolent mood—she met almost no one on the stairs, which were all miraculously aligned for an easy trip to the dungeons. She was knocking on Snape’s office door in record time, and judging by the tone of Snape’s voice when he bid his visitor to enter, he was not expecting her back so soon, either. Or perhaps he was just in a bad mood—with him, it was more than likely.

She opened the door carefully, not wanting to bump the Pensieve and even more loath to annoy the Potions master.

“I thought your library would be a good place to keep it,” Hermione explained as soon as she opened the door, nodding to the object floating before her. “Dumbledore said I could keep it as long as I need, so it should be stored somewhere safe.”

Snape’s scowl, which had eased upon realizing his visitor was only Hermione, deepened once again. “An amazing display of intellect, and one that I did not realize requires so much conversation.”

Ignoring his apparently foul mood, Hermione instead tapped the jar to reveal the hidden doorway and entered the library.

She frowned at the piles of books and parchment scattered across the only available surface in the room, the desk. Surely she hadn’t left it that untidy the night before… but then again, it had been late, and she had been caught up in her thoughts as she returned to her rooms. Sweeping aside some of the clutter, Hermione cleared just enough space for her to set down the stone basin. Staring into its shadowy contents for a few moments, she considered how powerful of an artifact had been entrusted to her.

A voice from the doorway startled her out of her brief reprieve. “Have you ever used a Pensieve before?”

“No, sir,” Hermione answered, glancing to the frowning professor.

Snape twitched as if to join her beside the desk, but stopped himself. “All you have to do is tip the memory into it. You’ll be able to see it just looking above it, but it won’t be very helpful. To truly view the memory you must break the surface.”

Hermione withdrew the vial Harry had given her from her satchel, carefully uncorking it and tipping it over the Pensieve as instructed. The memory seemed hesitant to leave its confines, but it eventually slithered over the rim and joined the other silvery memories below.

Slowly, a picture began to emerge amongst the smoke and haze, as if on a tiny television. Hermione leaned in—her nose touched the cold, silky substance—and she was falling head over heels into darkness.

She landed in a patch of grass between two gravestones. A flash of green startled her, and she looked up in time to see Cedric Diggory fall to the ground twenty yards away; her stomach swooped as if she had stepped on one of the spiral staircase’s trick steps.

Harry, looking much younger than Hermione remembered (surely they had looked older as fourteen-year-olds!), was kneeling on the ground, face twisted in agony as he clutched his scar. After a moment, his pain apparently eased—he looked at Cedric, laying spread-eagle on the ground, with shock.

A short, stubby man— _he must have cast the spell,_ Hermione realized with a jolt of her stomach—set something carefully on the ground before lighting his wand and marching to Harry, seizing him and tying him soundly to a large marble headstone. Harry struggled, trying to loosen his bonds, and the cloaked figure struck him across the face.

Pleased with his work, the cloaked man (surely no woman would have hands like that!) stuffed a cloth into Harry’s mouth and left him, winding between uneven rows of markers to the edge of the graveyard.

Harry was staring at the bundle that was mere feet away from him, eyes wide in horror. The bundle stirred fretfully, and Hermione stifled a gasp as the realization hit her, forgetting that she couldn’t be heard.

_The bundle was Lord Voldemort._

The cloaked figure was heaving a cauldron the size of a small bathtub across the graveyard, cursing at the headstones blocking his way. His hood had fallen in his exertion, revealing him to be none other than Peter Pettigrew. Hermione inched forward from her hiding spot, trying to get a good look at the cauldron, when something moving at Harry’s feet caught her attention. Voldemort’s snake, Nagini, slithered past Harry. Hermione shuddered just looking at the giant serpent.

At long last, Pettigrew had pushed the cauldron to the proper position before the marble headstone. Wits finally about her, Hermione strode confidently to stand beside Pettigrew, who was lighting a fire under the cauldron. It was too dark to tell the color of the liquid, but it had the consistency of water, which certainly narrowed down the possibilities. Fire lit, Pettigrew stood and stared into the cauldron, which was already beginning to bubble and send small sparks flying. Steam rose, thick as fog, from the surface, and Hermione was glad that apparently she could not be affected by it as a spectator.

A voice quite unlike anything she’d ever heard before made her tear her gaze away from the sparking cauldron. _“Hurry,”_ it hissed, voice high and cold, making the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up. She could only imagine the terror Harry must have been feeling, witnessing this in person, only able to guess about what may come next…

“It is ready, Master,” Pettigrew told the bundle eagerly. By now, the cauldron was sparkling so much that it appeared to have a thin layer of diamond floating on the top.

 _“Now,”_ the cold voice commanded and Pettigrew unwrapped the bundle, revealing a creature so vile that it caused Harry to yell out around his gag. Despite herself, Hermione took a few steps back as Pettigrew approached, carrying the creature gingerly. He placed it in the cauldron--surely that would burn the creature?-- and shuddered, obviously glad to be rid of it.

Pettigrew then raised his wand, seemingly pointing it at Harry; Hermione gasped. “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.” His wand lowered slightly to point at the ground at Harry’s feet and a fissure opened up, a fine powder floating closer to Pettigrew until it settled into the cauldron, turning the liquid a bright, unmistakable blue.

Pettigrew, previously nervous, now seemed absolutely terrified. He pulled a dagger out from under his cloak and held his right hand over the steaming pot. “Flesh of the servant, w-willingly given, you will revive your master.”

A scream pierced the night and Hemione had to force herself not to turn away; Pettigrew’s hand splashed into the cauldron as the man fell to his knees. The potion turned an almost neon red. After a few moments filled with pained gasps, Pettigrew stood and hobbled over to Harry, who had his eyes closed and head turned.

“B-blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.” The dagger flashed in the moonlight as he sunk it into the crook of Harry’s arm. Immediately, Pettigrew dropped it, reaching into his robes for a vial. After collecting some of the blood that was seeping from Harry’s torn robe, Pettigrew returned to the cauldron and tipped the vial’s contents into it.

As Pettigrew fell to the ground with a sob, the potion instantly turned a bright, blinding white. Hermione’s arm flew to her eyes to shield them, but with great effort, she lowered it and squinted into the cauldron. Sparks were flying from it, like miniature fireworks. Almost as soon as they’d started, the sparks were extinguished, the surface of the potion completely still and serene.

Then, a heavy steam rose from it; Hermione could no longer see Harry or even Pettigrew who was nearly at her feet. For several long seconds, all was calm, the fog receding slightly. Then, a figure began to rise from the cauldron; Hermione let out a scream of terror, reeling backwards.

“Robe me,” the figure commanded. Pettigrew took the robes that had been used to bundle the small creature and, with one hand, helped the risen Lord Voldemort into them.

Before Hermione could get one last look into the cauldron to see if it had changed colors again, Hermione felt as if she was being yanked up into the sky and the scene before her faded away.


End file.
